


Mephitic

by Markovia



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Aged Up, Blackmail, Broken Bones, Dubious Consent, Gang Violence (referenced), M/M, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-18 10:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia
Summary: The cost of Izaya's information is devastating but Masaomi would do anything to protect his friends. He's already let too many people down.





	1. In camera

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. This is one of the most unpleasant things I've ever written, so please be wary of that. The consent is there but it's very much a form of blackmail, so please don't read if you are not comfortable with this. 
> 
> For this story I will be ageing the characters from canon, Kida will be 18, Izaya is 25.
> 
> Part one of two.

Kida smiles a lot. He likes the feel of it and the way it shows off his white teeth but, more importantly, he likes the way the very act elevates the mood of the people around him. Despite his rougher edges, Kida loves making people happy. Showering his friends and family with affection has always been second nature to him, he thrives on flushed faces and returned grins and happiness. There’s only a handful of occasions where he doesn't smile with at least a modicum of genuine care - when he’s talking to the Yellow Scarves as their Shogun, when he’s alone and his head fills with the awful images of days past and the ringing crunch of his lover’s bones in his ears. There’s another time too, one when  _ smiling  _ doesn't even cross his mind. 

 

Izaya smiles though, he never stops. His grin is so wide that it appears strained but Kida knows better than to think the informant is ever anything but completely in control and at ease. His smile isn't friendly, there’s no warmth to any of Izaya’s actions or expressions, it's vile, snarky. It makes Kida feel uncomfortable the moment it spreads across his face. His eyes often narrow when he smiles like that and there’s always a nasty glimmer behind them that makes the younger man want to rip them straight out of their sockets. Kida wants to hurt Izaya, he  _ really  _ wants to hurt him, but he knows that is an almost impossible feat. The only person capable of harming the informant is that monster Shizuo Heiwajima and Masaomi knows that he’s nowhere near as powerful as him. Izaya and Shizuo are in their own league, two unstoppable forces constantly vying for dominion of the city. Compared to them, he’s nothing, he’s so weak. 

 

The information broker tells him that whenever they’re alone. 

 

“You’re so weak, Masaomi,” Izaya laughs. He’s not looking at Kida, he’s staring out of the large window at the end of his office, hands clasped behind his back. The sun is setting behind the skyscrapers, casting long shadows across the room. Its position means that Kida is squinting against the brightness and all he can see of the other man is his slender silhouette dark against the sun. “Months ago you were blabbering on and on about how  _ evil  _ I was, how you’d never speak to me again. Now look at us. You’re just not able to stay away, are you?”

 

Kida lowers his gaze and stares hard at the floor. He keeps his mouth shut, he doesn’t want give Izaya anything else to tear into. The informant hums softly and turns to face him, nasty smile already in place. 

 

“Not in a talkative mood?” he asks, innocently. When Masaomi doesn’t answer, he chuckles softly and moves across the room so that he’s stood close to the younger man. Kida doesn’t want to look but Izaya forces his chin up with his forefinger and stares intently into his eyes. The informant leans in closer so that their noses are almost touching. Izaya loves physically violating his personal space and invading both public and private areas of his life. Masaomi regrets getting involved with this man, he truly cannot explain why he keeps coming back to Shinjuku, back to this  _ creature _ he despises so much. 

 

“Well,” Izaya continues. He slides the hand on Kida’s chin along until it’s encompassing both sides of his jaw. The grip tightens and Masaomi winces. It’s more painful than he imagined and he berates himself for consistently underestimating how physically strong the broker is. His slim frame lends to the idea that he’s delicate but the reality is quite the opposite - Izaya’s body is powerful enough to propel him across the city faster than even Heiwajima can run. Kida jerks when the strong fingers dig into the soft skin between his jawbone and his ear but Izaya keeps a tight hold so that he cannot move away. He grabs hold of the offending fingers and tries to claw his fingernails into the skin of the informant’s knuckles but he’s bitten them down to the cuticle out of stress and they make no mark at all. 

 

“I guess I could just cut out your tongue if you’re not going to talk anyway.”

 

There’s a flick knife resting on his cheek now, the blade cold from his cupid’s bow to his temple. Masaomi feels his stomach twist anxiously. He is well aware of the games the older man likes to play with him, he’s like a cat playing with its food. It  _ is  _ just a game, he thinks, but he’s not certain if he trusts Izaya not to stab him in the eye for fun. When he swallows Izaya smiles, enjoying the feeling of Kida’s jaw clenching beneath his hand and the way his eyes flit nervously back and forth between him and the knife. 

 

“I’m n- you said you had information for me,” Kida says. He hates how his tone betrays just how nervous he is, how it wavers. “About the leader of the Dollars.”

 

“You’re no fun,” Izaya sighs, smile dropping into a bored expression. He releases the other man, flicking his knife back into his pocket. “Information like that is going to cost you, you know?”

 

The younger man’s stomach turns uneasily. The information always costs something and Izaya’s  _ prices _ are always unreasonable. “How much?”

 

“Until I’m satisfied.”

 

Masaomi swallows thickly and clenches his fists at his sides. “That’s unfair. You’re never satisfied.”

 

“You’ve gotten so boring and serious since Saki’s been in a coma.”

 

Kida’s hand flies up to rub his sore jaw and he shoots Izaya a glare at the mention of his lover’s name. “Don’t talk about Saki.”

 

“Why not?” 

 

He tries to hold himself back, he knows Izaya hates being shouted at but he’s viciously spitting in the man’s face before he even realises he’s doing it.

 

“Because it's your fucking fault that-” Kida trails off and the violence in his words quietens to an awkward stammer. “That...that-”

 

“That what?” Izaya drawls, snidely. He’s spotted the weakness and Kida knows he intends to shove his nasty words in there and twist them as best he can. “That she’s in the hospital?”

 

“I-”

 

“That she’s knocked out and might not wake up?” 

 

Masaomi freezes and suddenly he’s shoved back hard against the wall and that damn knife is digging into his throat. Izaya’s body is flush over his, securing him in place and the hand that isn't holding the knife is beside Kida’s head on the wall. 

 

“Or is it  _ my fault  _ that you keep coming back here to get fucked by me while your girlfriend is lying brutalised in the high-risk ward?” Izaya purrs. The words hurt and Masaomi would flinch if he weren't so tightly pinned against the wall. “Is it my fault that you’re weak?”

 

The broker laughs again, the sound barely more than a rumble in his chest and he pushes the knife into Kida’s skin, just enough to cause a trickle of blood to seep out and the younger man to start protesting. 

 

“Stop it, stop-”

 

“ _ My  _ fault that you can’t protect the people you love?”

 

The blade digs further.

 

“Stop, fuck, stop-”

 

“Say please,” Izaya orders. His voice has dropped into that slightly huskier tone that Kida recognises as one dripping with lust. It disgusts him as he knows the only reason Izaya is excited is because he’s trembling. “Come on, say please for me.”

 

“ _ Please, _ ” he gasps, just as Izaya’s fingers wind into his hair and wrench the dyed strands upward. The shock of pain is enough to bring tears to his eyes and with Izaya’s words still ringing in his ears, he just can't help it when he starts to choke up. “Please stop it, you fucking piece of shit. I hate you, I hate y-”

 

He breaks down into actual sobbing then, still blubbering  _ I hate you _ over and over through the tears. The young man is well aware of what Izaya will say - that it’s Masaomi’s fault, all of it. He's a being with free will, isn't he? He could have saved Saki instead of running away. He could stop coming back here. He could, he  _ could,  _ but he didn’t, he doesn’t. 

 

“Stop crying,” Izaya laughs and the sound is so vile that Kida wants to be sick. “It makes you look ugly.”

 

The informant begins to press feather-light kisses across the younger man’s face, wiping away the tears that have fallen on his cheeks. The action only makes him cry harder. The hand in his hair slides down behind Masaomi’s spine, somehow fitting between his back and the wall and he jerks him closer. It’s a bastardised version of a hug, used only to make Kida feel more uncomfortable, to make the tears come harder than before. Izaya starts shushing him and his sharp fingers dig ‘soothing’ circles into the base of his spine but the knife is still at his throat and it’s obvious that the informant doesn’t give a shit about him. His bony hips are crushing into the smaller man’s stomach and Masaomi feels his guts twist when he notices Izaya’s hardness against his thigh.

 

“You’re pathetic, aren’t you?” Izaya murmurs. The words are so softly spoken that they almost seem loving. “Barely worth my time.  _ Stop crying. _ ”

 

“I  _ hate  _ you-”

 

“I know you do,” the informant cooes. He moves the blade a little to the side so that he can lean in and run his tongue along the cut he’s made. Kida wants to shrink away because it’s  _ disgusting,  _ Izaya’s disgusting and he’s disgusting for allowing him to get away with it, but he can’t move for the wall behind him and the informant pressing him into it. He grits his teeth together when Izaya bites into the soft skin of his throat and tries not to make a sound but a groan slips out before he can halt it. 

 

“Stop-”

 

“Why?” Izaya hums, pulling back so he can look Kida in the eye. A lazy smile spreads across his face. “You want information, don’t you? Besides - we both know you  _ enjoy _ it.”

 

Masaomi feels his cheeks flush with anger and he spits straight into Izaya’s face. The smug look dissipates and he wants to laugh but he knows his glee will be all too short. The informant is staring blankly at him, his face oddly expressionless. There’s a moment of unsettling calm, then Izaya lowers the knife and draws his head back and slams it  _ hard  _ into Kida’s. The younger man cries out as stars burst in his vision and a rush of pain explodes around his skull. Izaya must have pocketed the knife as both his hands are now fisting Masaomi’s shirt, pulling him away from the wall and down the hallway. With a throbbing, spinning head it’s hard to form coherent thoughts, to stand, to fight, so he just lets Izaya drag him where he pleases. Over the rush of blood pounding in his ears, he hears Izaya muttering.

 

“I’m not a violent man, Masaomi. I really take no pleasure in harming you at all.”

 

That’s a _lie,_ he thinks. “Fu-fuck you.”

 

Izaya lets out a manic laugh and strikes the side of Kida’s face hard enough to send his mind further into incomprehension. “Let’s have some fun instead, shall we?”

 

The younger man gurgles, still unable to think straight.  Izaya shoves him through a doorway and despite his addled mind he knows exactly where he is. The hands in his shirt disappear and he staggers forward, blindly searching the air for something to hold onto. Izaya laughs in his face and punches Kida hard in the stomach which causes him back onto the bed behind him. The spread is soft but the force of the hit is enough to knock the wind out of the smaller man and he’s still gasping for air when the informant drops one knee onto the end of the bed and crawls over him. His vision focuses at last, just as Izaya settles his knees on either side of Masaomi’s hips and presses one inconspicuously strong hand against his throat. The young man tenses when he feels that and attempts to catch his breath before Izaya digs his fingers in and crushes his windpipe. The force doesn't come like he expects it to, instead he feels Izaya’s lips caressing the skin on the underside of his jaw. 

 

Masaomi starts to feel sick at that point. Part of him wants to push Izaya away, the same part that reminds him Saki is still in the hospital, that he should be with her, that he shouldn't be doing this if he loves her like he says he does. Another voice, a smooth yet unpleasant voice, breaks through his thoughts -  _ you can't help yourself around me, can you?  _ He wonders for a moment if Izaya has spoken aloud but as the man is preoccupied with biting down on the skin of his throat, Kida realises it’s simply his imagination. 

 

“Tell me you want it,” Izaya murmurs. “I’m not going to force you.”

 

Kida winces - the informant always does this and he  _ hates  _ it. He makes him tell him that he agrees, that he’s a consenting adult in all this. Izaya acts as if the consent is important but the younger man knows he doesn’t really care, he knows that when Kida says  _ yes  _ he really means  _ no.  _ Masaomi can’t work out why he keeps coming back here, why he keeps putting himself through this. He doesn’t like Izaya, quite the opposite, but if he didn’t want to do this then he could stay away. The ‘paying for information’ pretext is flimsy, deep-down he thinks of these visits as a sort-of punishment, penance for what happened, what  _ he _ did to Saki. Izaya is  _ not  _ a nice man, he fucks Kida like he’s trying his hardest to hurt him, dry and rough and disgusting. He always leaves feeling raw and used and angry but it’s nothing compared to the pain she must have felt. His guilt isn’t absolved but at least he feels like he’s paying for what he did. Kida’s rotten, Izaya’s rotten, it’s all putrid and even the city is starting to stink. 

 

“I want it,” he answers, quietly. 

 

He hates Izaya, who’s grinning down at him like a fucking maniac, but he hates himself more, he’s so ashamed of what he’s become. Kida closes his eyes, partly to stop more tears from falling, partly so he doesn’t have to look at that smile. Izaya doesn’t like that and the hand around his throat suddenly tightens enough to make Kida’s eyes pop open in shock. He raises his hands and scrabbles at the informant’s wrist but he can’t pry him off. The panic causes him to start choking faster and soon he’s making disgusting splutters as the air leaves his lungs. Izaya’s ring is cutting into the side of his neck, right where the cut from the blade is and Kida can feel blood seeping down his skin. 

 

“Don’t close your eyes, okay?” Izaya says. The polite request is just a thinly veiled threat so Kida nods as best he can, eyes now bulging out of his head in terror. Finally Izaya releases him and sits back as Masaomi draws in several breaths, body shuddering as it comes down from the panicked high. The younger man coughs violently and massages his sore neck with his hands, wincing as his fingers brush skin that bound to be bruised in the morning. 

 

“Hurts,” he croaks, voice barely more than a whisper due to the harsh treatment on his windpipe. “Don't do that.”

 

The informant strokes his throat softly with the tips of his fingers. For a moment Kida thinks he will push down and twist into one of the bruises but he doesn't, instead his hand moved down and tugs at the collar of his t-shirt. When he pulls back Masaomi notices that his palm is saturated with blood.

 

“Take your clothes off,” he says, moving off Kida to the sit on the side of the bed. Izaya turns his gaze down to the floor - strangely he never likes watching Masaomi undress. The younger man isn't certain why, he feels like that would be exactly the kind of embarrassing action that Izaya would love to exploit, but he’s thankful for the minute of privacy it grants him. The informant himself doesn't bother undressing. He prefers it that way - fully dressed, in control, Kida naked and ruined beneath him. 

 

When he’s shed all of his clothes, save for his boxers, the younger man sits back down on the other side of the bed to Izaya and nervously laces his hands together over his lap. “Can you put your knife on the dresser?”

 

Izaya stands and crosses the room so that he’s in front of Kida, arms folded across his chest. He’s peering down at the other man as if he’s curious but the hint of a smirk on one side of his mouth warns Kida that something unpleasant is about to happen. 

 

“Why?” he asks, as if bringing a fucking knife into the bedroom is the most normal thing in the world. 

 

“I don't like it,” Kida answers. Izaya tilts his head, clearly not giving a shit about whether he’s happy or not. “I don't want you to cut me accidentally - or intentionally.”

 

Izaya laughs and pulls the flick-knife from his trouser pocket. He tosses it carelessly to Kida. The younger man misses, it slips through his shaking fingers and clatters to the wooden floor at his feet. Izaya tuts and rolls his eyes as Kida bends down to pick the blade up so that he can rest it on the bedside table. 

 

“Honestly Masaomi, how were you ever the head of the Yellow Scarves?” he taunts, moving closer to where the other man sits. He starts unbuckling his belt as he moves, an action which makes Kida’s stomach turn nervously. “You're so clumsy!” 

 

When Izaya’s standing close he grabs the back of Kida’s head and laces his fingers through his hair. He knows what’s coming now, it's always the same. For a second he thinks about saying  _ no  _ for the first time but he’s already naked and Izaya’s already unbuttoning his jeans and he should have said it long before now if he had any real intention of leaving. 

 

“Open your mouth,” the informant orders, gripping the man’s hair a little tighter. Excitement glimmers in his eyes, he’s obviously aroused by the sense of power he feels over Kida or he wouldn’t play these games. After a moment of hesitation the younger man opens his mouth and Izaya lets out a groan of satisfaction at the sight. “Stick out your tongue.”

 

“Fuck you,” Kida hisses. He does it anyway, letting his tongue flop out onto his bottom lip. The broker grins and pulls Kida’s head forward sharply just as he shoves the front of his boxers down and takes his hardened length in his hand. 

 

“Go on,” Izaya purrs, narrowing his eyes. “And if I feel any teeth - just know it won’t take me long to reach that knife.”

 

Masaomi frowns and starts to reply but before he can get any words out Izaya’s pushed himself into his mouth and he’s choking on flesh. When they do this - fucking, hate-sex, whatever it is - Kida wishes he could switch off, just zone out and let his body be used without his mind being affected too. Izaya doesn’t let that happen, no, in fact he seems almost dedicated to making sure Kida starkly knows  _ where  _ he is and  _ who  _ is fucking him. His fingers scratch and pinch and twist constantly, each action bringing the younger man enough pain to keep him sorely in reality. Izaya’s everywhere and Izaya hurts. In a way it’s a good thing, it stops him from forgetting about why he’s here and it makes the guilt all the worse. He deserves every disgusting thing this man throws at him. 

 

The informant groans and clenches his fingers in Kida’s hair which causes the younger man to let out a noise of alarm and his eyes to widen. Izaya ignores his obvious distress and pushes the back of his head so that he could shove his cock further down his throat. It chokes the blond horribly but he stops himself before he bites down and moves his hands up to Izaya’s hips so that he can somewhat steady himself. The older man’s movements become rougher, as does his breathing and when Kida looks up he sees a flush across his cheeks. His eyes are screwed shut and his lips have fallen apart. He’s clearly been biting down on them from the teeth marks that are still indented on his bottom lip which Masaomi finds strange - Izaya’s never held any sounds back before. When he rolls his tongue around the flesh thrusting roughly in and out of his mouth, he gets a more common reaction. 

 

“Fuck,” Izaya moans. His hands move to the sides of Kida’s head and he pulls him off, pushing him back onto the bed so that he can crawl over him. There’s a sheen of sweat on Izaya’s forehead and a wry smile on his face but there’s no sign that he’s lost control, not even a little. Kida shuffles back as the other man creeps forward and he’s perturbed by the predatory sheen to his gaze. His back ends up hitting the headboard, he runs out of space to retreat and then Izaya’s right on top of him, hands on either side of his torso, caging him in. 

 

“I like the sound of you choking, Masaomi,” the informant leers, running a finger down his front until he reaches into the younger man’s boxers and paws at his still-soft member. Kida grunts when his hand wraps around it and he begins to pump up and down in a slow, smooth pattern. “You’re such a wonderful human to observe.”

 

“Don’t talk about m-me as if - ah - as if I’m an insect,” the blond stammers. His head falls back onto the headboard when the informant twists his hand and pleasure starts to rise in his lower stomach. 

 

“A little ant. I wonder what you’ll do when I turn my magnifying glass on you?” Izaya smirks and makes the motion again, seemingly pleased when Masaomi gasps and his hips buck upward. “I hope you burst into flames.”

 

Kida grits his teeth when Izaya pulls back and his boxers snap back into place, low on his hips. The informant never spends much time on him, he doesn’t care whether or not the younger man gets any pleasure out of their arrangement and to be honest, it would have disturbed him more if he did. For a moment, Izaya’s weight disappears, then he’s back, leaning over Kida with a manic grin on his face and the promise of hurt in his eyes. 

 

“You’re squirming too much already,” he sighs, as if he’s sorely disappointed in the blond. “Raise your hands above your head.”

 

“Why?” he asks. He does as he’s told despite the voice in his head warning him not to. 

 

Izaya’s grin widens and he produces a piece of material from his back pocket. It’s familiar, in fact Kida recognises it almost immediately.  _ His  _ Yellow Scarf. The one stained with blood from  _ that  _ night. He goes to recoil but Izaya’s already wound it around his wrists and pulled it through the headboard bars so he can’t move. The knot is tight, tight enough that when he tries to pull himself out of the disgusting fabric he’s unable to. 

 

“Get this the  _ fuck  _ off of me!” he snarls, kicking his legs at the laughing informant. “Get it off!”

 

“Calm down, Masaomi,” Izaya replies, laughter breaking through his words. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

 

_ I’ll hurt you,  _ is what he means. Kida’s legs are wrenched apart and the older man moves between his knees before he can close them again. 

 

“Get it offa’ me you piece of sh-” 

 

Izaya’s hand slams over his mouth before he can finish his sentence and Kida squeals loudly against the palm. The informant is pressing his other hand against Kida’s throat, a clear threat, but that doesn't stop him from thrashing around. This is it, his limit is reached, he cannot say he’s despised Izaya more in his life. 

 

“You wanna say no now?” Izaya asked, softly. His fingers dug aggressively into the sides of the other man’s neck. “Because I’m  _ happy  _ to rescind the information you want. But who knows if that knowledge might help you in the future? Maybe it would help you save a recent addition to your friendship group. Someone you care very much about.” 

 

_ Mikado.  _ That's the first name he thinks of and immediately he wants to throw up. Izaya’s showing no mercy tonight and Kida starts to wonder what would happen if he actually decides to say no. He’s never pictured Izaya as the kind of person who would  _ do that  _ but now, naked and confused and utterly out of control, he starts to doubt. Izaya’s never asked for consent because he cares about it, he’s only ever done so to humiliate Kida. The thought strikes fear into him and he begins to struggle harder, desperately trying to yank his numb hands from their disgusting tie. 

 

“Calm down.”

 

The older man removes his hand so that he can lay a harsh strike across Kida’s face and the blond whimpers in response to the pain. 

 

“Lemme go,” he pleas, trying not to let the upset stain his tone too much “Get it off!”

 

Izaya’s eyes glimmer dangerously and, just for a moment, Kida thinks that he’s not going to listen. To his relief, the informant leans back, hands raised, and laughs softly.

 

“If that’s what you want,” he says, coolly. They don't speak as Izaya reaches up to untie him but he lets out a sigh when the vile Yellow Scarf is cast aside out of sight. Izaya looks down at him and tuts, shaking his head. “Get out of my house.” 

 

The younger man scowls and grabs a fistful of Izaya’s shirt so that he can drag him closer. “You're gonna tell me what I wanna know about the Dollars, Orihara.”

 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he retorts, glancing down at the fingers clasped around his collar. “But I don't give away information for free.”

 

“Look-” Kida begins. He’s interrupted by a harsh blow to the side of his face and he falls back against the bed with a grunt. 

 

“No, you  _ look _ ,” Izaya snaps. For once his eyes are vacant of their usual playfulness, replaced by a vicious coolness that tells Kida he’s really in trouble here. “Don’t threaten me, Masaomi. I’m not one of the little street thugs you take such pleasure in fighting. I am stronger than you, in every sense of the word.”

 

Kida kicks at him and for once he manages to land a blow on the top of Izaya’s thigh. He’s angry, genuinely enraged, and he’s tired of being played with. Izaya isn’t going to get what he wants tonight, for the first time he’s going to say  _ no.  _ He’s going to leave. The informant catches his ankle and tugs him down the bed, straddling Kida’s hips so he can pin him back onto the bed. 

 

“Get the fuck offa’ me Izaya,” Kida snarls, trying to push at the man leaning heavily over him. “I’m not doing this anymore, you’re fucking disgusting, I hate y-”

 

Izaya’s knife - another one, one he had stashed in his back pocket - is at his throat again and he lets out an angry growl at the sudden threat. The informant looks more amused than ever, as if he’s having fun. 

 

“You want to leave?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. 

 

“Yes!” Kida snaps. The blade flattens against his rapid pulse for a moment and the younger man considers the possibility that he may not make it out of the apartment alive tonight. Eventually, Izaya withdraws and clambers off the bed. “What-?”

 

“Leave,” Izaya states. The playfulness is back in his eyes and his smile - that  _ fucking horrible nasty disgusting vile  _ smile - is back on his face. He’s already heading toward the door to the main area of his office. “You wanted to leave, so get dressed and leave. I don’t imagine you’ll need help finding the door.”

 

Masaomi feels both a wash of relief and apprehension - Izaya is the kind of person who  _ always  _ gets what he wants and he suspects that the ties between them won’t be severed so easily. He starts to pull his clothes back on just as Izaya gets to the door, where he pauses and turns back to look at the younger man. 

 

“Best of luck with everything, Masaomi,” he sneers, his tone indicating he really doesn’t care at all. His eyes darken behind his lashes and the grin gets a little sharper. “Send my love to Saki too - if she ever wakes up.”

 

The younger man looks up at him as he pulls on his socks just as he begins to laugh maniacally.

 

“Oh - and Mikado too!” 

 

Kida feels as if cold water’s been dumped over his head. As soon as he’s dressed he forces his way past the laughing puppet master and heads for the throb of the city outside. He hears Izaya call one final taunt before he’s out of the door. 

 

_ “See you soon.” _

The streets feel safer than Izaya’s apartment, the sea of unknown faces bring relief but it’s not until he’s on the train home that he doesn’t feel the information broker’s gaze burning a hole in his back. The blond holds his head in his hands and presses his fingers against his temples, trying to rub the tension away. Izaya seemed interested in Mikado the moment he met him, there was that same glint in his eye as when he himself first met the informant. Kida grit his teeth together and let out a snort of air in annoyance. Anri had already been hurt by the slasher, someone apparently associated with the Dollars. If Mikado were to get hurt too - no, he couldn’t let them down again. His thoughts drift to Saki, to her torn up face and crushed legs. He wouldn’t let anyone else get hurt. 

 

He needed that information. 

 

He had to go back. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Down and out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, warnings similar to the last chapter. Dub-con, language, etc. Hope you enjoy. I found it quite hard to write but I wanted to venture into the more vile aspects of Izaya, what could happen if his motivations were taken to a worse extreme.

Masaomi doesn’t return to Shinjuku until the following week. He bears with the ghost of Izaya’s voice whispering in his ear for as long as he can. 

 

_ Say hi to Saki. _

 

He goes to see her at the hospital but he waits outside, just peering through the window. She’s still unconscious, still hooked up to machines that beep quietly behind the glass. Guilt festers inside him, growing with each steady pulse of the heart monitor. The young man never goes inside her room, he doesn’t want her to wake up. He doesn’t want to have to see the disappointment in her eyes when he’s the first thing she sees. 

 

_ Say hi to Mikado.  _

 

Their schooldays together are getting harder to bear. Mikado is so wide-eyed and excited about the city that Masaomi doesn't think he would be able to cope with watching his friend be dragged into the messy underworld he frequents. Even if it wasn’t he himself doing the dragging he didn’t doubt for a second that Izaya would pull one of his many strings. Then there’s Anri, still recovering from the wounds left by the slasher. She’s looking paler, more timid than usual and Kida can’t stop thinking that he’s let her down somehow. He quickly comes to the conclusion that he has to find out the identity of the slasher and to do that, he must find out who their leader is. The leader of the Dollars. 

 

He has to protect the people he loves more than anything and there’s only one person who can give him the details he needs, which is why he’s lying face down on the informant’s bed with the disgusting Yellow Scarf tied around his mouth as a makeshift gag. It’s vile and he wants to be sick, especially as Izaya is behind him screeching with laughter, but he focuses on  _ Saki, Mikado, Anri  _ and tries to bear with the humiliation. His hands aren’t tied this time but are stretched out in front of him on the pillows. His eyes have been left uncovered - clearly the informant  _ wants  _ him to see to remind him of where he is and who is above him. Kida was surprised to see that the older man was sporting a black eye as well as a number of vicious bruises around his throat. There was more marks across his torso from the little of it Masaomi could see beneath his shirt. The young man wondered if he had gotten into a fight with Heiwajima again - it would certainly take his level of power to catch the informant before he slipped away.  

 

Izaya is spending more time on him than usual, which is both pleasant and unpleasant. The latter, because the informant is disgusting and Kida doesn't really want to be here but his hand is forced. Pleasant, because well - it feels  _ good _ . Izaya’s never usually bothered with making him feel anything other than pain so the drawn-out teasing is a nice change of pace. He’s leaning over Kida’s back, fingers scraping gently down the younger man’s sides. 

 

“You know,” Izaya hums. His lips are feather light against Masaomi’s ear for a moment, then he starts to kiss down his spine between words. “You're even uglier when you’re enjoying yourself. What would your friends think?” 

 

Kida grunts against the wet fabric in his mouth which makes the other man laugh. He can't see Izaya from this angle but he hears a bottle click open and knows what's coming. A cold, slick finger pushes inside him and he tightens on reflex but Izaya starts digging his nails into the area of Masaomi’s waist that he had been stroking. The younger man takes the warning and tries to relax, clenching the sheets between his trembling fingers as Izaya begins begin lazily pumping in and out. 

 

“Do you think I'm cruel, Masaomi?” he asks, humour evident in his playful tone. He slides another finger in along with the first, causing Kida to cry out into the gag. The sound is wet and disgusting and it makes him want to vomit but he holds himself back for fear of choking on it. There was no doubt in his mind that Izaya would not help him if that happened. The broker twists his fingers and Masaomi jolts as he drags across a highly sensitive area. The moan he lets out is wanton, the kind of noise he should be saving for Saki. “I asked you a question.”

 

Kida wants to hit him for that remark. He can't talk, obviously he can't talk, Izaya’s shoved the scarf halfway down his throat. Instead he nods his head as best he can against the sheets. The man behind him hums a laugh and widens the expanse of his fingers enough that Masaomi’s eyes pop open and he lets out a gruff yell into the gag. It hurts, it really hurts, but it always hurts so it isn't too much of a surprise when Izaya repeats the action and stretches him further. His other hand is still digging into Masaomi’s side and  _ fuck  _ he really hasn't used enough lubricant so the motions are burning. Tears spring to the younger man's eyes and he starts to let out noises more frequently - grunts, shouts, sometimes a whimper - he can't hold them in and there’s little point in doing so when he knows Izaya will keep going until he has Kida shrieking. Pride used to hold him back but he’s little pride left now, not here, not in this place. 

 

“Would you like me to be more gentle?” Izaya purrs. 

 

The touch at Kida’s waist softens again and the fingers pumping in and out slow down, become more considerate. It feels good, even Izaya’s mocking kisses along his tear-stained cheeks feel good but it's not what he wants, that isn't what he’s here for. If he lets himself enjoy it, then he can hardly call it recompense, it would absolve nothing. Thus, with a flushed face and anguished heart, he shakes his head and lets out a small whimper. Izaya laughs as if it's the funniest thing in the world and resumes his violent ministrations. Every now and then a sharp spike of pleasure jolts down Kida’s spine which causes him to writhe against the sheets. He’s hard and part of him wants Izaya to jerk him off but he knows the informant won't give him any satisfaction, especially since he just told him not to be gentle. 

 

“Ah, my dear Masaomi,” Izaya sneers. He pulls his fingers out and they make a disgusting wet sound that turns Kida’s stomach. The relief from the pain is good but he knows that this is only momentary when he hears the clinking of Izaya’s belt. “I can see right through you, you know? This is like some sort of punishment for you, isn't it?”

 

Masaomi’s eyes widen and he cries into the material as he feel Izaya push himself inside. It  _ hurts, _ fucking hell, it hurts so much-

 

“Penance maybe,” he laughs, carelessly moving in and out before Kida can adjust to him. The younger man gurgles against the vile gag and he prays that it will be over soon. “Absolution? You know, I actually understand how that feels.”

 

_ Liar. _

 

Masaomi hisses, reaches forward with one hand so he can clutch the headboard as Izaya rams roughly into him. His thrusts are uneven but manic, wholly unpleasant. He feels the informant lean over him and his breath, his gloating voice, is right next to Kida’s ear. Izaya’s hand clutches the headboard above the younger man’s and he thrusts forward so hard that he’s shoved forward and his head collides with the wood. 

 

“Is this like some sick version of confession for you, Masaomi?” Izaya pants. “Am I a God to you?”

 

Kida groans in pain, his head spinning. Izaya leans back and grabs ahold of the knot at the back of the gag so that he can yank Masaomi up, his back arching uncomfortably so that he can keep from touching the sweaty shirt Izaya’s still wearing. The informant holds him there for a moment, cricking his neck, then he feels the gag loosen and he falls forward onto the sheets. His mouth is finally free but he finds that he has nothing to say. Izaya doesn’t stand for silence, so his fingers wind into Masaomi’s dyed hair and they twist so violently he wonders if he’s going to tear his scalp off. 

 

“N-no!” he splutters, sucking in much needed breath, dry breath away from the saliva-saturated scarf. “You’re nothing.”

 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing to me.”

 

Masaomi cringes on a particularly hard thrust, not because it hurts so much anymore but because it’s starting to feed  _ good  _ and it should never feel good with Izaya. The younger man shoves his face into the pillow for a moment before surfacing. “Less than nothing,  _ agh _ , just fucking-”

 

“That’s what I like about you, Kida,” Izaya’s stammering now, his thrusts are rapid, his sweat is dripping onto Masaomi’s back. “You’re so  _ useless.  _ You need someone pulling your strings. You should listen to me, you should  _ worship- _ ”

 

Kida verges upward and shoves an elbow into Izaya’s face to stop his awful mouth from spitting out anymore filth. The informant yelps and loses his composure for a moment but before Kida can twist his body to do it again, Izaya’s shoving his head down with one hand while the other digs into his hip to keep him in place. Even under the weight of the fingers holding down his head, Kida manages to twist so he’s resting on one cheek and his mouth is free. 

 

“M-more devil than God,” he gasps, struggling to get breath into his lungs due to the awkward angle of his body. At that moment, Izaya pushes up at the right angle and Masaomi cries out when, without warning, he comes violently into the sheets. 

 

Izaya begins to chuckle but the sound becomes broken by a disgusting moan and Kida winces as he feels the man tense. The informant’s fingers dig into his scalp, his hip, he slams forward then pulls back and slides out. Masaomi closes his eyes at the wet sound of Izaya jerking himself off, the feeling of cum splattering across his back. The older man always does this, he never comes inside, he always wants to makes Kida feel as vile as possible. His efforts are not without merit - the younger man feels awful, he hates this, he hates that he is part of this fucked up deal with this fucked up bastard. But he’s no other option, has he? With a grimace he wonders whether really might consider Izaya, as some sort of deity - he certainly doesn’t think of him as human, he’s more of an all-knowing, omniscient creature. 

 

For a moment, the informant is still and Masaomi remains where he is, simply listening to Izaya’s laboured breathing. Eventually the weight on his back lifts and he feels the informant drop down beside him, body heavy against the mattress. Kida rolls onto his back so the moisture on his skin can soak into the sheets and then sits up so that he can swing his legs off the side of the bed and reach for his discarded clothes. The sodden yellow scarf is lying next to his jeans and he wrinkles his nose at the mere sight of it. The young man silently pulls on his clothes before he finally turns back to look at the informant who’s now leaning back against the headboard with a cigarette between his fingers. 

 

“You don’t smoke,” Masaomi says, before he can stop himself. “You’ve never smoked before.”

 

Izaya lets out a breath of smoke and the ashen tendrils curl out in the space between them. “It’s a recent development. I’m around it more these days and I’ve grown quite fond of the smell.”

 

Kida doesn’t ask for any further information but he can make an educated guess as to what Izaya means by that statement. In the light of the evening the bruises around the informant’s neck stand out starkly against his pale skin. Despite these marks of humanity, he still looks like some sort of monster. He’s too angular, shadows cover most of his face and torso - it’s just his eyes that glimmer in the darkness. 

 

“There’s a folder on my desk,” Izaya continues, voice weaker than usual as he’s still coming down from his high. He sucks in a sharp breath and lets out a smoke-stained breath a few moments later. “You’ll find what you want in there.”

 

“Sure,” he replies. He doesn’t say  _ thank you _ because no amount of information would ever make him express gratitude to Izaya. When he turns back to the door he gets another glimpse of the filthy scarf but he swallows the nausea threatening to roll out of his body. Just get to the door, get out of the building, go home. 

 

“Oh, Masaomi,” Izaya calls, snidely. The younger man looks back over his shoulder but really wishes he hadn’t when he catches sight of the informant’s Cheshire grin. His stomach twists and he tastes bile in the back of his mouth. “I don’t think you’re going to like what you read, so perhaps it would be kinder to hear it from me first.”

 

“Kinder?” he scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “How could anything possibly be kinder coming for your nasty mouth?”

 

“Mikado,” the informant says. The name settles between them, spiralling in the air with the smoke. 

 

Masaomi blinks once, twice, then cocks his head. “What about Mika-?”

 

“You’re not understanding me,” Izaya states, bluntly. His grin stretches wider and his eyes shine with excitement. The silence was the thing that made the penny drop in Kida’s mind and his mouth falls open. “Ah, there we go.”

 

“No, no - he’s not-”

 

Izaya’s laughing through his words. He’s always laughing. “The leader of the Dollars? Yes! Yes! Isn’t it wonderful?”

 

“No-”

 

“It’s true. I wonder how long it will take dear Ryuugamine to follow in your footsteps. He’s already relying on me for information and he certainly seems more adept at using it. We can only hope that he has a stronger will - it would be  _ so  _ awful if your new friend Sonohara were to end up in the bed next to Saki, wouldn’t it?” 

 

The room spins, his ears are ringing with Izaya’s raucous laughter. He’s always laughing, laughing, it seems that he will never stop. Masaomi can feel fluid running down his back and blood throbbing heavy against his temples. He loses his sight for a moment, the entire room goes dark until all he can focus on is the two shining spots of red from the other side of the room. Mikado can’t be, he  _ can’t _ be. Why would he set the slasher out on the streets?! Why would he harm his own friends? He wouldn’t, no, no, it must be a mistake. Masaomi blinks and sucks in a breath but the room won’t stop spinning. This isn’t a world for him, he’s too innocent, he’s too good - if he runs in these circles then he’s bound to find out  _ what Masaomi did.  _ He can almost imagine the friendly look in his eyes dying, turning to - what would it turn to? Anger, perhaps, but he could deal with anger. No it would be betrayal, mistrust,  _ disappointment- _

 

Izaya’s laughing, he’s still laughing, and the noise is shrill enough to set bile bubbling in his stomach.

 

The sickness finally takes over, he lurches, rests one hand on the wall and spills his guts over the floor. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
